


How to keep a promise

by In_the_grey_sky



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Funky little family: the origins, I hope this is as soft as I intended, M/M, Power Play, Romance, Toto is being a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_the_grey_sky/pseuds/In_the_grey_sky
Summary: Cyril betrays Toto by hiring Dan instead of Esteban, regardless of their agreement. As a result, Esteban finds himself with no seat for the 2019 season. Toto is very pissed at Cyril, but eventually, they find a solution.
Relationships: Cyril Abiteboul/Torger "Toto" Wolff
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	How to keep a promise

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've finally decided to upload this fic! Cyril x Toto deserves so much more content on here, and since the lack of fics was a bit frustrating, I just decided to do it myself sklsks
> 
> Just so you know, Toto's quotes in italics were taken from real interviews. They were a huge inspiration for this fic. Also, English is not my first language, but I tried my best. Don't hesite to comment to let me know what you think! Hope you'll like it :) <3

The laws of the paddock were cruel. Toto wasn't expecting Cyril to betray him, out of all the team principals. He liked Cyril, and he had always thought the reverse was true. Their relationship was based on mutual respect, conversations about the evolution of the sport over coffee, occasional glances that meant more than they both wanted to admit. They were agreeing about the political part of F1 most of the time, and when they weren’t, they would voice it without concern, always trusting the other one to respect their point of view. Cyril was delightful in his thoughtful moments, his index finger grazing over his chin, always analyzing the situation until his mind couldn’t take it anymore. It reminded Toto of the important men he had always admired, men who were able to reflect and had that pensive look on black and white portraits.

They had elaborated a plan together. Cyril would give Esteban a seat for the 2019 season alongside Hulkenberg. The Frenchman was very fond of the young boy, the struggle he had faced to join formula one close to his heart. As for Toto, he felt more than just the boy’s agent— he felt a responsibility toward him, having grown up in a poor family himself. Toto and Cyril had vowed to protect him and to make him stay in the sport as long as possible. In the Mercedes motorhome, after a race, they had shook hands to set the deal. That was perhaps Toto’s biggest mistake— he had taken Cyril’s handshake for granted, trusting the affection they had for each other as a proof. However, the deal wasn’t officially signed yet, and Cyril had managed to steal Ricciardo from Horner's claws in the meantime. The move was bright, tainted with revenge. The kind of bastard move only F1 could generate.

On the phone, Esteban was fucking devastated. Being without a seat meant risking being out of F1 forever. Toto did the right thing and reassured him with carefully chosen words, repressing his own anger to not alarm the boy more. He told him that his future in F1 was assured, that he would quickly find a solution. The truth was, Toto had no idea what to do. Things had gotten out of his control.

He hated Cyril, but more importantly he hated himself for having been blinded by him. The summer break had just begun, he was supposed to relax in his Swiss mansion, take a walk by the nearest lake, do some biking. Not lash out his rage on the furniture of his personal office, throwing and breaking objects like a goddamn fury. When he was done fighting against the ghost of a person, he grabbed his phone. Cyril replied after three missed calls— calls he had probably ignored on purpose, making Toto pace in the room like a caged lion. _Coward._ Before Cyril had time to speak, Toto went straight to the point.

“You’re a fucking liar”, he started, his Austrian accent stronger than usual. “You gave me your word, looked at me right in the eyes, shook my hand and then fucked us over. I fucking hate liars like you.”

There was silence, then a deep breath at the end of the line. “I don’t know what to say. We had a change of plan at the last minute and-” “You have no respect for the sacrifices Esteban’s family has made”, Toto interrupted him, triggered by his apparent composure.

The jab must have pushed Cyril’s buttons, as he became angry the next second.“This is bullshit, and you fucking know it. This has nothing to do with Esteban and it was never in my attention to leave him behind.”

“But that's what you did, and for what? To win your little pissing contest with Christian? Well I hope you're happy now, because Esteban has no seat.”

“I thought McLaren had his back”, Cyril replied, a bit confused.

“I refused McLaren’s offer, because of you”, Toto admitted. He was so happy about their plan, about Esteban being a French driver in a French team, about Cyril and Esteban working together, that he had completely dismissed McLaren’s offer right away. How fucking stupid of him.

“How could I know that?” Cyril spat. He couldn’t, and he was only realizing the extent of his actions now. Esteban was out of F1 because of him. When he spoke again, his voice had an edge to it, like he was fighting tears. “If I could take them both, you know I would. But Daniel is what the team needs right now.”

“You gave me your word, Cyril. But words don’t mean anything to you. You’re a coward. Esteban has been crying all afternoon because of you, because you’re a fucking-“ “Please Toto. You’re so furious.”

“I'm not furious. I’m never furious”, Toto replied, trying to regain some senses. He stopped pacing around, focusing on the view on the Swiss lake by the window. It was a beautiful day. “Now don’t ever talk to me about Esteban again. You've made your bed. You won’t have him. He deserves a better car than yours. One day he will drive the Mercedes, he will prove everyone he deserves to be in that seat, and you will regret your decision.”

He hung up and appointed a phone session with his shrink for the next day, at four p.m. She advised doubling up his meditation sessions. Unfortunately, the rage bubbling inside him wouldn't shut up, sometimes keeping him up at night. Taking Ricciardo was Cyril's A plan all along, he realized. Esteban was just a side move. He spent shitty holidays, the betrayal in the back of his mind all along.

At the end of the summer break, they signed Esteban’s contract as a reserve driver for Mercedes in his office. That was the only solution.

“Thank you.” said Esteban. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“I will always be there”, Toto replied, hugging and stroking the boy’s hair. _His boy._ He didn’t deserve the pain.

The season started. Esteban was using the Mercedes simulator as much as possible to not lose his abilities. He was also coming to every race, and Toto was happy to have an eye on him. Journalists, lured by the taste of blood, started to ask questions about the whole situation. Toto told them his truth. _“Esteban doesn’t have a seat because people don’t have the balls to stick to what they say.”_ He was feeling much better, but his anger was triggered anytime Esteban was mentioned. He was aware every word he was saying would be reported back to Cyril, but he didn’t care, and more so he was hoping it would provoke a reaction.

The Frenchman wasn’t properly ignoring him, they were mature enough to remain polite in the paddock and casual during press conferences, but the topic was still touchy and they hadn’t had a proper conversation for months. There were no more phone calls, no more philosophical discussions over coffee anymore. More than the colleague, Toto started missing the man. He wasn’t the one who had to make the first step, though.

In April, Williams offered Esteban a seat for the 2019 season and Toto had to decline. He tried to convince Esteban that he deserved so much more. He told him how bad the move would be for his career. If it wasn't for him, Esteban would have said yes, desperate to drive again, fearful the opportunity wouldn’t present itself a second time. “You need to keep your hopes up”, Toto told him. “You shouldn’t run after them. They should run after you.”

Part of him was happy Daniel’s season at Renault wasn’t going well. Hulkenberg wasn’t doing better either— his season was full of bad luck and his contract was coming to an end at the end of the season, which was leaving an opportunity for Esteban to take the seat. Cyril was smart, and he understood he had to make a decision quite fast. Nico, or Esteban. One night, he called Toto, asking if they could talk. Of course we can. “What do you want to talk about, Cyril?” Toto said, instead.

“I want to clarify things.”

“It took you some time”, Toto replied, which earned him a self-depreciating laugh at the end of the line.

“I was thinking…” Cyril started, and Toto could imagine him ruffling his hair like anytime he was bothered. The thought made his heart melt a little. “Thinking about everything, about this mess.” Toto didn’t interrupt him this time, his heart hammering at the thought Cyril was going to apologize in some sort.

“Frankly... What happened is I never thought I would get Daniel”, Cyril explained. “I thought he was too good for Renault. When he told me, I couldn’t believe it. And yes, I was happy. I didn’t think about Esteban at that moment. I thought about the team, about the possibilities Daniel was offering… It was selfish.”

“Ricciardo is a good driver.” Toto replied, jaw tightening despite himself. Cyril was being honest, but that was still painful. He couldn’t even watch that particular Netflix episode everyone was talking about, no matter how much people were telling him how good it was.

“I can feel you’re getting annoyed”, teased Cyril.

“Obviously, there’s a part of me that wishes Esteban would be driving instead of him. But overall, I think your choice is understandable.” Cyril sighed of relief.

“Thank you. And for me… I understand why you got so pissed off. I mean, not to be impolite, but I know you love control and all of that.” Perhaps it was because Toto was laying down on his hotel bed, in the dim light of his desperately empty bedroom, or because the words were coming Cyril, but he was feeling so seen. Yes, he hated to feel like he was losing control above anything, and that was one of the reasons he was so pissed at Cyril. The latter knew that, apparently. Being psychoanalyzed on the phone at 2 a.m didn’t feel good, though. “I’ve never seen you lose control that way”, Cyril continued, ”and I understand that this happening in the last minute must have been very bothering for you”. Despite Cyril’s empathy, Toto could hear a hint of pride in his tone —perhaps from having been the one to make him lose it.

“I’m not a control freak”, Toto replied, sarcasm coming easily to him. “Almost.” Toto gave him a harsh, “No.” They laughed, their cold banter being a familiar territory.

“We totally fucked up” said Cyril to summarize what had happened, and there was no better way to put it. “Yeah. Because we weren't being honest with each other”, replied Toto.

“I know. I want no more of that.”

“Me neither, Cyril.”

A loud exhalation came from Cyril, and the atmosphere became tense. Toto gripped his phone harder.

“I’m going to be honest, then. I want Esteban to drive for us next year”, admitted Cyril.

“Why?”

“Well… Nico’s not doing great, as you can see. We’re stuck in a never-ending circle of bad luck and I’m fucking sick of it. The whole team is sick of it.”

“No, I mean… Why should I help you?” Toto clarified. Did Cyril really think it would be that easy? That he would say yes over the phone, when the Frenchman didn’t even have the balls to talk to him in real life and apologize like real men were supposed to do?

“You’re still mad at me” said Cyril, with a tad of disappointment. Toto didn’t deny.

In the end, he said he had to think about it. Realistically, there was no better place for Esteban than Renault. Toto knew he couldn’t refuse it. He knew how much Esteban wanted to get that seat, how proud he would be to represent France, how much Renault was a part of his childhood. Esteban was almost begging him, his eyes lighting up like a child at Christmas when he told him about Cyril’s offer. He couldn’t let his own selfish pride ruin the boy's happiness. Ruin his own happiness either, as Esteban driving for Renault was what he had always wanted for the boy. That didn’t mean he couldn’t make Cyril wait a little longer, for good measure.

The Frenchman wasn’t hiding his interest at all, and Toto could see right through the game of seduction he had started playing. He could feel Cyril’s gaze on him in the pit wall entry, or following him into the Mercedes motorhome. Sometimes he would turn around, just to be sure he wasn’t being paranoid. Cyril would be watching him with a fond smile, a smile that felt so real and pure Toto would stop dead in his track. They would look into each other’s eyes for a moment until Toto would start walking again, at a faster pace, heart hammering in his chest.

It felt good being wanted by Cyril. However, pride made Toto continue his little media game. He couldn't just sign a deal with Cyril and ignore the betrayal he had suffered, no matter how desperate Esteban was to drive for Renault. No. Cyril was going to beg him, or he wouldn't release Ocon. _“I like Cyril, but in order to become a gentleman with the handshake, he needs to restore his gentleman image”_ he told to the press. He was waiting for the lure to work, waiting for Cyril’s next move.

It happened after the race in Austria, in front of the Mercedes motorhome. Toto was talking to the press, debriefing the terrible race the team had endured. Well, P2 and P4 weren’t terrible per see, but the race had been imperfect, and Toto hated imperfect. Renault’s race was worse, though. Nico was P4 until he lost control of the car and ended in the barriers. Toto could see Cyril walking in circles around him, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, which could only mean one thing. _He had won._

Once his interview was over, he ostensibly ignored Cyril, but Cyril didn't give up on his plan and came to talk to him. As much as he was disappointed for Cyril, knowing how much the team needed a good result, Toto was enjoying seeing him being this uncomfortable. He was getting his hands in and out of his pockets, fumbling with the hem of his yellow shirt, walking on eggshells really, and his awkwardness was kind of cute.

“Cyril!” Toto exclaimed, turning around as if he hadn't noticed him earlier. Cyril put his hand back in his pockets, a nervous smile cracking on his lips. The sun was shining, making his eyes brighter than ever. Beautiful.

“Do you want to have dinner tonight?”, he asked with his strong French accent.

Toto smiled, his features softening in the blink of a second. “Are you paying?”

Cyril let out the nervous laugh he had been holding back for too long. “Yeah,” he said, then, scratching his neck, “Is it a yes?”

Turns out Cyril had taken Toto’s words quite literally. When Toto showed up at the hotel’s restaurant, Cyril was already waiting for him, dressed in a pale blue shirt. He had booked a table for two. Toto approached him with the brightest smile, his white shirt and suit jacket impeccable, as always. With a tad of defiance, Cyril held Toto’s chair for him to sit, gentleman like. Toto was very amused by all of this. He didn’t care what people would think seeing two men being gallant with each other. He liked that Cyril didn’t care either. “Very thoughtful of you, Cyril”, he said, sitting down.

Right away, Toto ordered one of the most expensive white wine on the menu. Cyril rolled his eyes, seeing right through his little revenge, before telling the waitress he would drink from the same bottle. During dinner, they were happy to find each other again, avoiding the spicy topic as long as possible. Toto had missed them sharing insights together. Sometimes he would ask a question knowing Cyril would give him a full 360° answer (this man was just too fond of details), just for the sake of being able to watch him longer. They talked about Gasly’s season at RedBull, whether they thought his poor results had to do with internal pressure. Would he even finish the season? Anyway, Cyril was sure RedBull would never come close to Mercedes, because they were not manufacturers. “What do you think?” Cyril’s question left Toto dazzled for a moment, his gaze having found Cyril’s lips in the process of listening. Cyril huffed— a huff of disbelief, and amusement.

“I think I agree with you. RedBull needs to cut the bullshit. There’s a reason why they can catch us.” Toto replied, the heart of the conversation not totally lost on him.

“That’s a good summary”, teased Cyril. His smile was fading slowly as he was playing nervously with his napkin.

“Talking about cutting the bullshit… Can we talk about Esteban?”

Toto’s expression became stern, the wrinkles on his face standing out as his smile was fading. For a moment, he had forgotten about their feud, and his heart ached at the thought Cyril’s grand jeu was only for the sake of business. “I don’t know if I can trust you yet” he replied.

Cyril gave him a defying look, the comment clearly what he wasn’t looking for. He stood up and walked besides Toto’s chair, offering his hand for Toto to take like he was offering him a Waltz. Toto looked at Cyril with disbelief. “Where are we going?”

“Outside?” offered Cyril. Toto wondered if it was a polite way to avoid to paying for dessert, as he would have most likely ordered the most expensive one too. He took Cyril’s hand (it was a beautiful hand, one he would enjoy feeling on his lips), and he stood up. Cyril told the waitress to add both their meal on his bill, and just like that, they left the restaurant for the hotel’s inner courtyard. “A bit of fresh air will do us good”, Cyril justified.

There was no one around at this hour of the evening, and Toto suspected that was the real reason Cyril wanted to get there. In the middle of the yard, the pool was lit by artificial lights. Around, rows of bushes were creating pathways to the different buildings of the hotel. Toto could even spot a few rosebushes. _‘Romantic’_ was on the verge of his lips, but he couldn’t refrain from being a bitch a bit longer.

“Why did you take me there?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s fucking cold.”

“It’s your country. You should be used to it” Cyril replied, right away. Toto gave him a death stare.

“Oh! The stars are beautiful” Cyril said suddenly, as he was looking up at the sky, mouth slightly agape.

Yeah, definitely romantic. The sky was free of clouds, making every star visible. Toto put his hands in his pockets and they started walking next to each other. The moment reminded Toto of family gatherings in his childhood, when everyone, adults and kids, used to take a walk together after a heavy meal. His father was still alive during this time. It was good memories. Suddenly, Cyril stopped in the middle of the way, without a word. Toto turned around and faced him.

“What? Did you forget something in the restaurant?” Cyril didn't reply, but he kept watching Toto. His look was so soft it could have melted ice floes. Toto wondered how long he had spaced out, how long Cyril was looking at him like that, with a fond smile on his lips. He squeezed his arms closer to his chest.

“It’s not just about Esteban, you know. I felt really bad when we stopped talking” Cyril confessed. He seemed to gather all his courage, and he stroked Toto's cheekbone with his index finger. “Forgive me.”

The words came out like a whisper, and they made Toto shiver. He opened his mouth, but no word would come out. He wasn’t used to be treated like a fragile little thing, but the touch was definitely welcomed on his cheek, a rush of comfort filling his body. It was hard to keep his eyes open at that moment, when Cyril’s body was so close to him and he could just surrender to his touch. With a smirk, Cyril got closer, until his chest was touching Toto’s forearms. He rose on the tip of his feet and planted a kiss on Toto’s cheek. Toto subconsciously uncrossed his arms, letting him in.

“Forgive me”, Cyril repeated, after the kiss.

Toto put his hand flat on Cyril’s chest. The tension between them was in the air for quite some time, and none of them could deny it anymore. It was more than a friendly kiss on the cheek, and they both knew it. They had been carefully flirting for what seemed like ages.

“Actions speaks louder than words, Cyril”, Toto said, in his deep, raspy voice, his hands preventing Cyril from moving closer.

“I'll make it up to you. We're going to sign this contract, and Esteban will get that seat.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I’ll believe you when the contract in on my desk.”

“It will be. Sooner than later.” Cyril replied, like he was going to deliver it personally. Toto moved his hand higher on Cyril’s pectorals, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. He grabbed each side Cyril’s face, connected his forehead to Cyril's one, in the mimicry of a threat. “Don’t betray me again.”

“I won't betray you.” Cyril replied, almost instantly. He cupped Toto’s face, grazed his thumbs on both his cheeks and kissed him softly. It was a short peck, to reassure Toto mostly, and to prove his loyalty, but it made the Austrian feel weak. He put his arms around Cyril’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. Cyril's hands found their way on Toto’s hips. Suddenly, the night wasn't cold anymore, there was just heat. They were fitting perfectly, as the Austrian was big enough to engulf all of Cyril’s body in his arms.

Toto knew he had to put an end to it, before he would make the same mistake again. “Not now”, he whispered in Cyril’s ear. “When the deal is over. Then we can celebrate it properly.”

Cyril's cheeks flushed, and he buried his face deeper in Toto’s neck. His hands reluctantly left Toto's hips as Toto ended their hug. “I don't have a say in this?” he asked, half-disappointed, half-amused. Toto enjoyed the power his words had over him.

“No. You just stay quiet make that deal happen. Then we'll see.” he replied, going back to his initial sarcastic mode. Then, he took Cyril’s hand in his, and they walked hand-in-hand back to the hotel.

Toto was taking a bath in his house in England, trying to relax after the race weekend in Silverstone. Okay, they had made Mercedes 1-2 happen again— _as it should be_ , but any excuse was good to take a bath. Hulkenberg had finished P10, which wasn’t a catastrophic, but Cyril had already made a decision, wasn't it? When his phone rang, laying on the bathroom floor next to him, Toto’s heart hammered in his chest. It was Cyril, obviously. Toto grabbed his phone and said “I’m taking a bath”, with a tad of reproach in his voice. Why not play this game further? The breathy laugh that came out of Cyril’s mouth was exquisite, almost as much as the following stammering.

“Now?”, Cyril managed to say.

“Yes.”

He heard a breathy “ _sorry_ ”, then Cyril cleared his throat. “Should I call back later?”

“No. Why are you calling?”

“I want Esteban to be a full time Renault driver.”

Toto almost dropped his phone in the water. “Is that why you’re calling?”

“Yes? Why do you think-“ Cyril stopped, probably having a sudden realization. He didn’t finish his sentence, and Toto was grateful for his classy manners. He had clearly overrated his power of seduction for a moment, thinking Cyril would be like a dog clinging to a bone after their last encounter. Turns out _he_ was the bitch in heat. Just thinking about the other night made his blood pulse, and he immersed himself further into the bathtub, almost projecting water out of it. There were dozen of ways he could turn that phone call into something more satisfying, and he was sure Cyril would play his part well if he was insisting enough, but now wasn’t the right moment, and he had to follow his own promise.

“I don’t want Esteban to go”, he admitted. ”He will stay at Mercedes and we’ll loan it to you.”

“Why? I mean, it's not like he's going to get a Mercedes seat soon. I know you’re attached to him, but he needs to grow, to stand on his own feet. We'll give him this opportunity.”

Cyril was in full work mode, but he had a point. Esteban couldn’t stay a reserve driver all his life, and giving him Valtteri’s seat for 2020 was out of the question. Toto had done everything to not give Esteban’s false hopes. Sure, Esteban would love to drive for Mercedes above everything else, but to put it simply, Toto’s couldn't let Lewis ruin the boy’s career. He was too young. Renault’s current performance was perfect for him to gain some experience. “Let's see each other next weekend and talk about it with Esteban”, he said. 

Toto was in the car with Esteban and one of Mercedes’ PR after the race in Germany. They had made fools of themselves. Worse, Netflix had been there to film their humiliation. _Fuck._ At least, good news was on the way for Esteban. Toto called Cyril in the car, and they agreed on having dinner in the evening, just the three of them. As they were speaking French, the cameramen couldn’t understand a single word about their secret little deal, which was very satisfying. However, they could catch his stupid grin and flushed face, which was making him a bit self-conscious. He couldn’t believe how excited he is for this dinner, compared to how pissed he was at Cyril months ago. The man certainly knew how to give the puppy eyes… Among other things. The kiss was replaying in Toto’s mind over and over, and god, maybe Cyril had managed to regain his confidence just with a goddamn kiss.

Back to the hotel, he took a quick shower, then he called Cyril with a white towel around his hips and his hair still wet (it wasn’t the most naked he had called Cyril, anyway). Cyril was already waiting for him and Esteban downstairs. Toto went to the lift, his heart beating inappropriately. Esteban came out of the opposite lift at the same time as him. They laughed, and he patted Esteban’s back affectionately.

The restaurant was cozy, not too fancy, at least less than the one in Austria. They were all wearing casual clothes, pants and t-shirts. Esteban shook Cyril’s hand, having not seen him before in the paddock during the day. Toto just gave Cyril a wink.They sat around the round-shaped table, which left neither of them in front of an empty sit. When the waiter came to take their orders, Toto ordered the same expensive white wine he had ordered last dinner. Cyril didn’t avert his eyes from the menu, but looking at his self-repressed smile, Toto could see he had caught the drift. On his side, Esteban seemed too excited to notice anything.

“You know I’m sorry for this mess, right?” Cyril said, his hand stroking the back of Esteban’s neck in a paternal gesture. Esteban nodded and replied “I know, Cyril.” He seemed to hold no grudge against him. All of this mess was behind him, what mattered was the new opportunity. The picture they were making warmed Toto’s heart. For some reason, the three of them felt like family.

During dinner, Esteban told Cyril how much he had improved learning from working with Lewis and Valterri during this season. He was very hungry to drive again, working on the simulator until his body was aching.

“I told you to take some breaks”, scolded Toto. “You don’t want to end up in pieces.”

“Toto is very protective of you, isn't it?” said Cyril, giving a quick look in Toto’s direction. _Bastard._

“Yes”, nodded Esteban, beaming. So childish, yet so reckless on track. _His little lion._

“I could have guessed, from what you’ve told me” Cyril went on.

“Shh, Cyril!”

“Oh, shit”, reacted Cyril, quickly covering his mouth.

Toto crossed his arms, brows knitting.

“You two have been talking?”

“Texting. It was casual conversations”, downplayed Cyril.

Toto couldn’t believe it. “You… You _little shits_ were talking behind my back?”, he said in an overly offended tone.

“No!” cried Esteban.

“That’s not what happened”, added Cyril. He had asked for Esteban’s number a month ago, after the night had called Toto to offer Esteban a seat. The two Frenchmen already knew each other a bit, since Esteban had been a Renault’s reserve driver in 2016. They wanted to know each other more deeply, and talk about Esteban’s possible future at Renault. What Toto got from their explanation, was that to some extent that Cyril was behind Esteban’s puppy-like begging, and that Esteban had hidden their conversation from him. The boy was reasonable enough to know what he was doing, and his professionalism wasn’t to be questioned, so his decision to hide it probably had come out of fear. Fear Toto's pride after having been betrayed by Cyril would come into play in the negotiations — which had happened, Toto couldn’t deny. Fear Toto would refuse him the Renault seat, like he had done with Williams.

He wasn’t pissed off, though. Rather, he was stunned at the idea Esteban didn’t trust him. “I'm sorry if I gave you the impression of holding you back, Esteban”, he said, his expression serious.

“No, it's okay. I know it's for my own good. But I want to be a full time Renault driver now. You know it's my dream. And if that means not being a Mercedes driver anymore, I'm okay with that.”

“He can still come back to Mercedes when he has matured”, added Cyril. “I'm sure Renault will give a lot of experience.”

“Yes. Please?”

Toto looked at Esteban’s puppy eyes, and Cyril’s expression was not that different. One could think Esteban had learned the trick from him. Toto wasn’t an emotional man, at least he thought so, but Cyril always had a gift for making him melt with a simple look, as long as he remembered. They had known each other since 2016, which represented only three years of friendship, but the Frenchman was looking so much older now, his hair longer and graying day by day. He was beautiful, though, more than before. The underlying attraction Toto had been feeling just below the surface since their first meeting was now undeniable. Why does it always have to be men with salt and pepper hair?, he though. He and his therapist already knew the answer.

He thought about his ultimatum after Cyril’s kiss. How stupid had he been? What he liked to think was a lure was now playing against him. How long until they would sign that goddamn contract? A month? Two months? He wanted to feel Cyril get closer to him, kiss that fake display of innocence off his face. Since their momentary slip the other night, Cyril had been desperately gallant in his seduction, calling for work only. Esteban being there was not helping either, though. Not that he minded Esteban’s presence, but Cyril and him had unfinished business.

“Alright.” he said, having pondered his thoughts all night. Esteban’s smile grew. 

“Really?”

“Yes”, he replied firmly. “I get that you’re not a three year-old anymore.” Cyril hid his amusement behind his hand and Esteban looked ready to apologize, but Toto interrupted him. “If that’s what you want, I’m behind you 100%.”

Esteban stood up, hopped in his direction and kissed his cheek, like he had just received a Christmas gift. “You won’t change your mind?” he said his arm around Toto’s shoulder. “Of course not. Actually, I can’t wait to see that. I think yellow will suit you better”, he joked, which prompted a high-pitched little laugh from Cyril he was very proud of.

After dessert, Esteban said he was tired and he should go to bed, making a show of yawing and rubbing his eyes. _Clever boy_ , thought Toto. He knew both of them had to talk. “Don’t sleep too much”, he teased, knowing Esteban needed eleven hours of sleep to properly function.

So here they were, finally together, two weeks after their last dinner. Toto was smiling to himself. Perhaps it was champagne, perhaps it was the situation, or just Cyril.

“What?”, asked the Frenchman in question.

“I'm happy I can have you for myself for a night. You're always so busy lately.” His rather apt choice of words wasn’t lost on Cyril, who reached for Toto’s hand and rubbed it lightly, before removing it a moment later. “I’m glad that you changed your mind”, Cyril said. 

“Are you happy?” dared Toto, his dark maroon eyes plunging into Cyril’s light ones. They both knew they weren’t only talking about Esteban’s contract anymore.

“I think so”, replied Cyril, his hand coming to rest under his chin, eyes lighting up.

“You think so?” teased Toto, as he started playing footsie under the table. Cyril took a quick breath, his hand resting flat on the table as if he needed support. “I’m sure”, he replied, his eyes gleaming. “Do you regret what you said the other night?”

“Very much so. But I’m a man of my word... Like you”, Toto added, afraid Cyril would take it like a jab.

“Eventually, yes. One year late.” Toto knew behind Cyril's self-depreciating jokes, the man really had little opinion of himself. Years of losing had done that to him, and his eye bags and gray hair were a proof of all the restless night he had spent. Despite his big ego, Cyril had never been someone satisfied with his life. Toto wondered what he looked like when he was truly happy, out of their clinical world of performance. Would he even be able to disconnect from F1 for more than twenty minutes? Of making love without losing himself in thoughts?

“Come to my house during the summer break”, Toto offered, without thinking. It sounded more like an order than an offer, and that made Cyril almost blurted out his wine.

“Which house? You have seven”, Cyril sassed him when he could breathe properly.

Toto clicked his tongue. “I have five”, he replied, exaggerating his exasperated tone. “And I was talking about the one in UK. You could come to my office in Enstone next week to sign the contract and then, we could go back to my house.”

“Immediately”, added Cyril.

Toto laughed, his bright smile lightening up the whole room. “That’s the plan.”

It wasn’t the first time Cyril was coming to his house, but usually he wasn’t the only team principal invited. This time, they both knew they would have the privacy they needed, and the implication it had. As an answer, Cyril raised his glass of wine. Toto followed him, and they clinked their glasses together, looking into each other’s eyes.

Toto said he would book a flight the next day and they talked about what they could do during their time together. Walking. Reading. Biking (that Cyril accepted only if Toto would try skating, which sounded dangerous as fuck and he would probably end up with a broken arm). Sleeping. Watching Star Wars together, in French. Cooking. Making love for the first time, Toto added mentally to their list. The program sounded good.

They didn’t talk about how long Cyril was supposed to stay, though. As long as Cyril wanted to, Toto supposed. The Frenchman wouldn’t stay longer than a week, but he liked to imagine an alternate reality in which they could be together as long as they wanted. After Renault’s awful season—really fucking awful— Cyril had earned a little vacation to relax, no? At least Toto would try everything to make that happen, just to see Cyril smile like he meant it.


End file.
